‘I tell you, no one was home that night and I don’t know what’s wrong with that woman, apart from the fact that she’s married to Paddy and has seven kids with open mouths hanging around her ankles. Kathleen Deane was on the other side of me and she’s the one half-raising those kids since Maura took off. So Kathleen can’t do it, can she? She’s making the cakes, Maisie’s sewing all the frocks with the little material they have, Shelagh is running around like a blue-arsed fly with half a dozen kids on her hips, trying her best, bless her, and Alice and Deirdre, they’re running just about everything else trying to please Miss Devlin, who never stops with the orders, and Cindy, well, she’s too busy running her salon. And there’s another problem; there hasn’t been a tramp ship in the dock for months. No one’s got nothing.’

Eric felt breathless just listening to Babs. None of it was news to him. The widow, Maggie Trott on Nelson Street, had voiced her concerns to him about the carnival weeks ago. The dock board didn’t pay enough of a weekly wage to feed a large Catholic family and everyone on the four streets enjoyed some luxuries in life courtesy of Captain Conor, whose mother, Ena, lived on Waterloo Street. On a regular basis, Conor’s tramp ship haul was carried up the dockers’ steps in the dead of night and it was his rum, from the Caribbean, which kicked off the carnival to a good start.

‘I mean, where does Sister think the free tot of rum comes from when everyone’s covering your milk float in May flowers? Or the fabric for the frocks, for that matter. They were made of shot silk last year, that Conor brought all the way from China. He sold it to a shop in town and kept a bolt for us, but he hasn’t been home for months. His poor mam thinks he’s drowned, but I said to her, Ena, stop being so dramatic; if he had, his body would have been washed up weeks ago, and we would have heard by now.’

Eric shook his head in disbelief. Ena was a soft and gentle soul when she was sober. As used as she was to Babs, he could only imagine her reaction.

‘You can’t help some people, Eric. Walked out of the pub, she did and hadn’t even touched her drink – and that’s a first, I’m telling you.’

Eric made the mistake of answering Babs, and could have bitten his tongue off before the words had left his mouth. ‘Well, if there’s no sign of Conor sailing in, could you ask the fellas in here to stop supping slightly earlier than they do and have a bit of a collection?’